Life Is a Jailer
by triffickie
Summary: Bunty aur Babli a Bollywood film. Rakesh & Vimmi, Bunty & Babli. What they were, and what became of them.


Life Is A Jailer 

Fandom: Bunty aur Babli (movie)Written for: neverbeen2spain in the New Year Resolutions 2006 Challenge (yuletidetreasure dot org)

--

It's Rakesh who falls in love with Vimmi. A smalltown boy meets a smalltown girl and ends up marrying her. This is the story he'd tell his parents, the one Vimmi would tell hers. When his parents would meet her, they'd call Vimmi 'bhedi' (daughter) as they'd embrace her. It's a happy family scenario.

It pays to have a darker side, Rakesh thinks, because Bunty doesn't care for marriage or smalltowns. Bunty prefers cities filled with traffic, the aroma of pollution and success. Bunty doesn't care for smalltown girls with big dreams, girls like Vimmi, but Bunty likes Babli, likes Babli a lot.

Babli enjoys success as much as Bunty does. She's fun, class and beauty; dangerous and graceful, a lioness that looks like a queen. That's Babli. Bunty's Babli.

The problem is that neither of them are sure when they turn into Bunty and Babli instead of Rakesh and Vimmi, and they're not sure when they turn back, either. The roles they put on get mixed in their personalities so that right now, when Vimmi's flirting with him, slightly giddy from champaigne, Rakesh doesn't know whether she's being Babli or just herself, or whether there was ever really a difference in the first place. It gets complicated.

He wants to turn on his Bunty mode, because Bunty knows women, Bunty's smooth and Bunty would know what to do in a situation like this and how to do it. But he also thinks maybe it's time he stopped accusing Bunty of his own blunders, pranks and dirty thoughts. Maybe it's time he grew up and got a real job, work for the Indian railways like his father. Maybe it's time he accepted his responsibilities and lived up the ideals of others instead of working towards his own selfish goals. Maybe.

Or maybe not.

They're in a hotel-room of a hotel they're supposedly buying. After delicious room delivery and too much champaigne (all payed by the former owner), they're now supposed to decide who takes the floor and who the bed for tonight. Vimmi seems to have already decided on the bed, the way she is lying across it. Her shiny, colourful top has ridden up to bare her ribs and she's mumbling something about the con they're pulling and Rakesh tries very hard not to look at her and think thoughts he only allows Bunty to think.

"Go to the washroom so I'll get my turn," he says, nudging her gently. She mumbles something incomprehensible and turns onto her side. "Vimmi," he continues but it's no use.

Lying on the mattress on the floor, after having pulled a blanket over his partner-in-multiple-felonies, he thinks about Bunty and Babli. Not Bunty and Babli mixed with stubborn Rakesh and emotional Vimmi, but Bunty and Babli as just these characters, these ideals they've created for themselves.

Bunty and Babli are the perfect match, whereas Rakesh and Vimmi are real. Real with faults and everything, but this doesn't matter. As long as they're Bunty and Babli, they have each other.

And what happens after they stop being Bunty and Babli, Rakesh never even wants to think about.

--

Vimmi wasn't supposed to end up pickling mangos. She was supposed to end up on pages and covers of glossy magazines, on fashion runways, perhaps even on the silver screen, some day. She was going to be covered in diamonds and the most beautiful clothing items made on Earth, not those plain sarees she always saw married women wear back home in Pankinagar. She was supposed to become Vimmi the Superstar, not Vimmi the Housewife.

It's not that she doesn't love her Rakesh or her Pappu, and she's still willing to sacrifice anything for her son's sake, but she misses certain things about her old life. The more she's lead this life of honesty and obedience, doing chores and watching the grass grow, the more she misses the excitement of her former life, no matter how immoral and dangerous it was.

She grins and bears it, and cooks meals with Rakesh's mother (such a sweet woman) and serves them. Drinking chai in the evening, she watches Rakesh play cards with his father (such an honest man) and win, always by cheating. Vimmi notices but doesn't say anything.

It's what it's all come down to. The little, tiny, dishonest things they do nowadays to avoid the risk of getting caught. Enough to get that strange rush they used to feel back then.

And this is their life. It's not exciting, it's not thrilling, but there's a comfort in knowing nothing will happen to their child. It doesn't matter if safety gets boring, Vimmi tries to convince herself. She's not Babli anymore, he's not Bunty anymore and together they're back to being shelled inside the smalltown realities they ran away from once already.

Every time she sees a bus or a train leaving to Lucknow, Bombay, Delhi, she wishes they could just run away again. But she's not Babli and he's not Bunty and they stay in their place.

She wonders if she can one day tell Pappu about his parents, about his _real_ parents, the ones who had two names and a million aces up their sleeves. After all, what is the use of leading an honest life, teaching your son to never tell a lie, if you're not allowed to be honest about your own past?

She doesn't think she'll ever get the chance. She wants to relive her life as Babli, tell stories about all the things she went through and relish in the memories. She just wants out.

--

Their saviour comes dressed in the same leather jacket, the same jeans, the same red scarf as back three years ago when they last saw him. When he last saved them.

Rakesh throws himself in his feet but this is not necessary. They'll be saved anyway, saved from the life of banality and boredom, day jobs and pickled mangos. This time it'll be different, it'll be legal and safe, but at least they'll be Bunty and Babli again.

And so it goes. Everyone gets a second chance in life.


End file.
